


Time Is the Fire In Which We Burn

by HeyOrpheus



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, HIV/AIDS, M/M, Modern AU, Occasional fluff, Short Chapters, cuteness, dom!marco, high school sweethearts, this will probably get real sad real fast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyOrpheus/pseuds/HeyOrpheus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco are a normal, happy, gay couple living in 1980s Boston.<br/>All is good, all is fine, and their life is wonderful.<br/>And that's when they first hear about it:<br/>AIDS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spark

**Author's Note:**

> Oh goodness, you guys, I'm so nervous about writing this. This is my first multi-chapter fic, and I'm kinda scared that people will be actually depending on my to update and stuff. But I promise I'll try my best!  
> I hope you enjoy this fic. I'll try not to make it too sad :(
> 
> Oh, and if I mess up any factual evidence about the AIDS/HIV epidemic, please let me know. Or if anyone has any good websites or information you could give, that would be much appreciated ^_^
> 
>  
> 
> Ps. This fic was really inspired by the movie "The Normal Heart", so I'd 100% recommend seeing that amazing film as well.

I have been alive for 29 years, and for 14 of those years, I have been in love with Marco Bodt.

 

Okay, so maybe 14 is a bit of a stretch. Sometimes, it could be a bit rocky. We’d fall for each other, we’d be in love, we’d have sex, we’d leave each other, we’d come together again, we’d have sex, we’d fall for each other…

 

And so on.

 

But it wasn't always like that. That was just the beginning. That was when we didn't understand what love was and when we thought it was okay to leave and have affairs with other men, then crawl back to each other. That wasn't love. But we didn't get that yet.

 

It was one of those loves that didn't require anything. It was like a fire--a fire that didn't need anything to light it. At first there was a spark, but then it caught fire all by itself. It just happened. It just was.And that was alright. It was alright that we just _were_. Jean and Marco. Marco and Jean.

 

When we met, it sort of felt like a  fairy tale. A gay, awkward, mid-puberty fairy tale. It was  like how it is in books and movies and TV-shows.

 

It was the second day of my second year of high school. I was putting stuff into my locker, minding my own business. At first he wasn’t there. And then he was. He was right there, walking down the hallway, saying hello to people he didn’t know and waving to teachers he had already been acquainted with.

 

He passed me and smiled. I didn’t smile back—I couldn’t. I felt frozen, I felt stunned. Who the hell was this guy, coming in with his boyish charm and dazzling smile? Who was he, who smelled like fresh air and flowers, thinking he could just grin at me like that and expect me to react naturally? Man, this guy was a douchebag. And I was instantly attracted to him.

 

Still helpless, I did what any idiotic sophomore with a thing for guys with freckles would do: I blushed like a mad man and slammed my locker shut.

 

Right there, right then, I walked away, trying to ignore him. Of course, right around the time that Marco Bodt decided to make an appearance in my life, I was having my own sexuality problems to deal with. The end of my freshman year…it hadn’t gone too well. The beginning was pretty alright—because I still had a lot of friends. Then, to everyone else, I was Jean; I was the cool straight guy that got along with everyone. But inside, I was so small. I was scared of everything and everybody. I was scared that if I got too close to a guy I liked, I might kiss him. I was scared of everyone hating me for who I was. I didn’t want to be labeled as queer for the rest of my life. I didn’t want to be labeled as anything. I wanted to be Jean Kirstein without anyone hating me for doing so.

 

So I kept it cool…for most of the year. It was in May of 1969 when I fell for my best friend. Hard. It was late one night when he was over at my house. We had gotten into my dad’s liquor cabinet. We were drunk as fuck. We made out in my room. I loved it. And I _loved_ guys.

 

The next week at school, he told people that I had tried to kiss him. I attempted to deny it, but no one believed me. After all, who would believe me? I was just a horny fag with a need for attention.

 

Back then, it sucked to live in a world where homosexuality wasn’t just a sin, it was a disorder. People treated me like a had a disease. If they got too close, they’d catch it. So they stayed away. And I let them. For a while, anyways.

 

Sophomore year, I wasn’t unpopular, but I wasn’t popular either. I had two close friends, Eren and Mikasa, who we called Mikky. They both knew about my obviously questionable sexuality issue, but were okay with it. We didn’t really talk about it that much. They dated senior year.

 

So when Marco Fucking Bodt decided to stride right into my life, I wasn’t quite ready yet.

 

I did my best to ignore him, but it wasn’t easy. He was in my biology class, and we were often assigned to be each other’s’ lab partners. And he was so goddamn friendly I couldn’t take it. The first day, he said hi to me, along with a upbeat, “I’m Marco Bodt. I transferred from Trost, Illinois.” I’d never heard of the place, but when I brought it up to Eren later, he said he had cousins there.

 

For the next year, that’s how it went: him being beautiful and charismatic and me just being a complete asshole in return. My slogan of that year was practically: “Stay calm. Stay cool. Don’t be gay”. Yeah, that was pretty hard for me, let me tell you.

 

Then junior year. That’s when I finally let my asshole act go. And I was nice to him. That made him happy, which, in turn, made me happy. We became friends. Then we became best friends. It wasn’t until senior year when we became lovers.

 

It was almost sort of similar to the freshman year incident. Except we were both sober, and we both wanted it. I told him I liked him. He said that he liked me too. We made out. We fell asleep in each other’s arms. When we woke up, he muttered to me, “Jean…will you be my boyfriend?” (I remember the words exactly. I have them written down in a notebook somewhere. Probably tear-stained).

 

And so I was his boyfriend, for the rest of that year. We kept it a secret, of course, playing up the whole “best friend” act. I didn’t come out to my parents many, many years later. They hated me at first and were always uncomfortable, but eventually got used to it, and began to love me again like they used to.

 

After high school, Marco and I decided to go to the same college together. By the end of senior year, we were head over heels for each other, and knew that what we had was too important to give up. We finally chose a college in Boston, which wasn’t too far away from our home in Maine. The two of us decided on this liberal arts college called Emerson. Marco was interested in majoring in literature and wanted to be an English teacher. My dream was a bit more far-fetched—I wanted to be a playwright. I wanted fame, but not that much of it. I liked theatre, and I loved to write. And so that was my dream job.

 

Emerson was perfect for both of us, so we decided on that.

 

College blew by in a breeze. We were happy, living together in a little apartment, still in love and still committed.

 

In what seemed like no time, it was graduation day. We were outside on that sunny Saturday afternoon, wearing our dorky caps and gowns. After the ceremony, we decided to talk a walk in a park by the school. Marco held my hand, not caring who saw. We were by a fountain. There was a light breeze. Everything smelled like cherry blossoms. And that’s when he did it. That’s when the fucking nerd did it. Marco Bodt got down on one knee, looked up at me, and held out a little box.

 

“Jean Kirstein,” he began. “My lovely, idiotic Jean Kirstein. The only one for me. My one true—er, sorry…I’m rambling. I have something ask you.” He opened up the little box to reveal a gold wedding band. “Jean, will you be with me for the rest of my life?” He shrugged. “You know, not legally, but—”

 

And I dropped to the ground next to him and I kissed him to shut him up.

 

I nodded. I couldn’t talk. It was too much. He was too much. He was perfect. And then he was in my arms. And then I was crying. And then he was crying.

 

I can honestly say that that was one of the best moments of my life.

 

There was no wedding, really. I mean, there couldn’t have been a wedding. He had asked me to be with him forever, and hell, that’s what I was gonna do. We found a little place in the heart of Boston. It was warm, and comfortable and we both loved it. We got a dog and named him Charlie. We were happy.

 

And now it’s September, 1982. And now I’m 29.

 

Oh my, how the time flies.

 

“Hey, hon,” Marco says to me, walking through the door with two bags full of steaming Chinese food.

 

I grin at him. “Ah, yes, the food boy has arrived!” I spring up from my spot on the couch and hurry over.

 

He lifts an eyebrow. “Food boy? I’ll have you know that I am a food _man_.”

 

I laugh. “Alright food man. Now set that down and kiss me.”

 

Marco leans forward, and before he kisses me, he mutters, “Anything for you, babe.”

 

We’re kissing for a while, and would have just ended up abandoning the food and making out on the couch if it weren’t for the phone suddenly beginning to ring.

 

I cringe, not wanting to stop kissing him. But I pull away anyways, muttering, “Sorry.”

 

I stumble over to the coffee table and reluctantly answer the phone. “Hello.”

 

“Jean. Buddy.” It was Eren Jaeger. He had moved here to Boston after he was finished with college in New York City and wanted to find a place where he knew people. He chose Boston. To be honest, sometimes it was a little annoying that he sort of copied me with the whole Boston thing, but then I remind myself to grow up and deal with it. Besides, he was one of my oldest friends, and I still liked him just fine. We could just get a little competitive sometimes.

 

“Jaeger.” I looked at Marco with a overdramatic look of annoyance on my face. “Make it fast. I’ve got hot food and an even hotter boyfriend waiting for me.”

 

He laughs over the phone. “I’m gonna throw up. But no, this actually important. You really need to turn on the news.”

 

I furrow my brow. “News? What? Why?”

 

“You’ll see. But I have to go. Channel six, alright?”

 

“Yeah, but—”

 

He hangs up.

 

I turn back to Marco and he asks, “What did Eren want?”

 

I shrug. “He said to turn on the news and go to channel six.”

 

He nods, starting to get those worry lines on his forehead that he got when he was concerned. Damn, even after all these years, he was still that cute, dorky guy I met in high school. But now he was hot too. All the better.

 

I pick up the remote and turn on our old, little TV-set, then switch to channel six.

 

At first, it’s just a local news story about a hurricane, and I’m confused. But then the story changes, the screen flashing with a banner that reads: RECENT UPDATE.

 

And that’s when I see it. I see that word. That awful, goddamned word that I know that I will hate for the rest of my life.

 

AIDS.


	2. Ignite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff, some sadness, some factual information, and a few character introductions
> 
> (sorry if this chapter is a little slow; there's a lot of exposition)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, adding a new chapter only 2 days later  
> Anyways, enjoy :)

Marco and I exchange a glance that is both troubled and confused. I had never heard the odd, all-caps word before, and from the look on Marco’s face, he hadn’t either. I read the title that covers the screen again: AIDS Epidemic Worsens.

 

We turn our attention back to the TV when the male news reporter begins to speak.

 

“The horrible, cancerous epidemic that has taking the lives of hundreds of people has been announced to now have a name: AIDS. This stands for Acquired Immuno Deficiency Syndrome. It is a result of the human t-Cell lymphotropic virus, or the HTLV.” The screen changes to a small, colorful cartoon of some viruses. “The virus attacks what are known as your T-cells. It uses the T-cells to make copies of itself and goes out to destroy more. When it harms your other cells, it is known as AIDS.” The picture returns to the reporter. “So far, nearly 600 men—and a few women—have been infected with this disease, and approximately 240 of those lives have been lost. We go now to reporter Michelle Fitzgibbons.”

 

A new woman, walking down the street, carrying a microphone, and wearing a green turtleneck appears on the screen. She starts, “The AIDS epidemic only began last year, but already, people are crying out for help. This disease is said to have no known origin, but studies have shown other cases in it in Zaïre and Haiti. What’s even worse—there is no known cure yet. Scientists say that this disease is closely related to Kaposi's Sarcoma, and Pneumocystis Jirovecii pneumonia. But here’s the twist—out of all the people getting infected with AIDS, over 90% of those were young, homosexual men.”

 

“Holy shit,” Marco mutters under his breath, shooting me a worried glance.

 

I’ll admit, my immediate reaction was to be scared as well, but right now, I have to be the brave one. “You can’t worry about stuff like that. We’ll be fine.” I try to end the statement with an encouraging chuckle, but the laughter dies as soon as it comes out of my mouth.

 

We look back to the TV together, where the woman is now interviewing a man in a lab coat. Under him, a caption reads, “Dr. Levi Ackerman.”

 

She asks him, “Where are the majority of these outbreaks coming from?”

 

He brushes the dark hair out of his eyes and responds, “Really all of the major cities. New York City, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Atlanta, right here in Boston—”Levi continues to list a few more cities, but I stop listening. _Right here in Boston._

 

The reporter nods, then asks, “And as for the cure, can you tell us anything about that?”

 

Nervously, almost awkwardly, he sighs. But then I get it: he’s not nervous, he’s not awkward. He’s ashamed. “Not really much I can say about a cure yet. I’ve been to many conferences in which this was discussed, and no one had much of anything to say. We’re working on it, but the best we can do right now is chemotherapy and other medical treatments.”

 

“Are there any symptoms or warnings of the disease that people should look for?”

 

“In the beginning, it will be like a flu—fevers, sore throats, headaches. But as it progresses, turning into AIDS, there are more things to look for. Rapid weight loss, tiredness, memory loss, depression. An immediate sign is that these marks will begin to appear on the skin, no more than the size of a quarter. They’re usually brown or red. If you’re not careful, one could be mistaken for a larger freckle.”

 

I practically wince, sneaking a glance at Marco. He keeps his wide-eyed gaze on the television, and even now, just from a news story, I can see tears brimming against his eyes. _Shit,_ I think _. Oh, God, I am going to have to be the brave one during this, aren’t I?_

 

The scene changes to a woman interviewing two men. One is very tall looking, has floppy brown hair, and is wearing a purple blazer. The man who sits next to him is a muscular blonde with a smug expression and white t-shirt. Below them, it says, “Activists and partners Reiner Braun and Bertholdt Hoover.”

 

The woman says, “So you consider yourselves to be two of the first AIDS activists in Boston?”

 

The blonde (who I’m assuming is Reiner because his name is on the right) responds, “Definitely. Out in San Francisco, they’ve got their own AIDS Foundation. In New York, there’s the Gay Men’s Health Crisis. And yet, no one has yet stood up for us in Boston. Gay men are dying left and right and no one cares. So we decided to take matters into our own hands.”

 

The reporter gives a little smile. “That’s excellent. How did you decide on the name _The Garrison Foundation_?”

 

Reiner tenses up a little, but answers calmly. “My brother is named Garrison.” He laughs. “I know, hard to believe that someone would actually name their kids Reiner and Garrison. But it’s true. My brother’s gay too, and just a couple of months back, he found the love of his life. But then a week ago he called and said that he went to the doctor’s and found out he had the Gay Cancer that everyone was talking about. I felt awful. I knew I had to do something, but I’m no scientist. So Bert and I decided that what we could do to help was this.”

 

The woman smiles. “Well, we’ll all be keeping your brother in our hearts. Now tell me, how many others do you have working with you?”

 

Bertholdt takes this question. “Well, not many. It’s sort of a newer group, one we built out of friends and co-workers. Only about ten others are helping us so far.”

 

“And before, you said that people were dying and no one cared. What exactly did you mean by that?”

 

Reiner’s reaction is instantaneous. “I meant it exactly how I said it. No one cares about us.”

 

“Why?”

 

He almost laughs. “Because we’re gay. If we put up posters that said _Disease Killing Hundreds of Straight White Men and Women_ , people would be throwing money at us like it was their jobs. But that’s not what’s happening. You ask someone to donate to help cure Gay Cancer, they’ll tell you to ’eff off. People don’t care about us, so we decided that we have to work on the cure ourselves.”

 

The scene ends, and returns to that shot of Michelle Fitzgibbons walking down the street with her microphone. “If want you want to donate or help out Mr. Braun and Mr. Hoover’s cause, you can contact the number below.” When a phone number appears on the bottom of the screen, I hastily grab a pad and paper and scribble it down.

 

Marco looks at me with that same scared glance. “What are you doing?”

 

“I…” I finish writing, then look him square in the eyes. “Marco. I want to help.” As soon as I said the words, I realized how true they were, and how much I meant them. And yet, I didn’t know why I meant them so much. Marco and I were safe and fine, and we’d probably safer and even more fine if we stayed away from the guys dealing with AIDS. But people, people just like us, were dying. And something inside me told me that I couldn’t let that happen.

 

Upon my statement, he hesitates for a moment, and then nods. “Alright. Alright, let’s do it.”

 

I wasn’t sure if he meant right now or not, but that’s how I took it, and grabbed the phone from off the table. I put in the number, then waited three rings.

 

Suddenly, someone picked up the phone. “Hello, you’ve reached the Garrison Foundation,” a voice said. It was a timid and younger sounding voice, but I could still tell it was an adult man.

 

“Uh…hi. So, I just watched a news story on TV about your organization. Two of your guys, Reiner and Bertholdt, were on it.”

 

The voice brightens. “Oh, you watched the story about us? That’s awesome. It’s so cool that they were on TV! I wanted to be on, but I’m not really one of the leaders of the group… Anyways, I’m Armin Arlert. Is there something I can help you with?”

 

His enthusiasm makes me feel a little bit better about making the abrupt call. “Uh, yeah, I guess. My name’s Jean Kirstein.” Marco comes over and sits down on the couch next to me, holding a glass of water. He sips it nervously. “My partner, Marco, and I were inspired by your project. We want to help.”

 

“Oh my goodness, really? Wow, that’s great! We have lots of things you could help with. When can you come?”

 

“Um, hold on.” I set down the phone and look at Marco. It was a Wednesday night, and while my job was more flexible, I wasn’t sure what his schedule was like. “Babe, you have to work tomorrow, right?”

 

He frowns. “Yeah.”

 

I pick back up the phone. “I can come tomorrow but Marco can’t. Is that alright?”

 

“Of course. Our headquarters is at 182 Sheena St, third floor.”

 

“Sounds great. See you tomorrow, Armin.”

 

He gasps. “Oh, wow, you remembered my name! Bye, Jean!”

 

I hang up. Armin seems like a nice guy. I can’t wait until tomorrow to see what he looks like.

 

Sighing, I look at Marco. With a smile, he says, “Chinese food?”

 

I grin and dart over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’d love some.”

 

We eat mostly in silence, until I eventually give up on a full conversation and just put the news back on. There’s still an air of uneasiness surrounding Marco and I. I wish there wasn’t, but I can’t get rid of it. I won’t lie—I did feel uneasy. I was scared of this disease and scared of Marco getting the disease and scared of more people getting the disease and I worried until that was the only word I could hear in my head: _disease_.

 

After nearly an hour and a half, Marco gets up from the couch and picks up his and my dishes. As he’s washing the plates and putting the leftovers away, he calls to me from the kitchen, “Jean, can you please stop worrying about the AIDS thing?”

 

My head darts towards his direction. He’s looking at me. “How…how’d you know?”

 

“I’ve loved you for over ten years. I know what you look like when you’re frustrated and when you’re exhausted and when you’re day-dreaming. And when you’re worried. I know, Jean.”

 

I sigh and lean my head back against the couch. “I know, I’m sorry…but I can’t stop thinking about it.” I close my eyes. “I’m scared for us. For you.”

 

Drying his hands off on a towel, he comes over and sits next to me. Marco throws the towel on the coffee table and puts an arm on my shoulder. “Jean. Look at me.” I do. “We’re going to be okay. We’ll get through this whole epidemic thing together. We just have to be safe, alright?” I nod, but it’s hard for me. “I love you.” He presses his lips to mine, and even though he tastes like fried rice and smells like dish soap, it’s such a wonderful thing.

 

I pull away, still clinging to his hand, and whisper, “I love you too.”

 

Gently, he let’s go of me and then stands up. “I think I’m gonna go to bed early. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning.”

 

I smile, still trying to taste him on my lips. “Goodnight, lovely.” He begins to walk away, and I’m about to let him, but then I can’t stop myself and I say, “Marco, wait!” He turns back to me, eyebrows lifted. Guilty, I say in a gentle voice, “Before you go to sleep…please…could you maybe just look at your all your freckles real quick?”

 

“And check for AIDS spots?”

 

“Yeah. You know, I’d look for you _, if you know what I mean_ , but I don’t want to keep you up too late.”

 

“You’re cheesy and awful and worrisome and I love you. Of course I’ll check.”

 

I smile at him before he walks away to the bedroom. There wasn’t much to smile about. I was still scared. I was still worried. I was still anxious about going to the Garrison Foundation. What would I do if I wasn’t able to help? What if they just thought I was an annoying douchebag? _Well, Jean,_ I think. _Sometimes you are just an annoying douchebag._

 

Needless to say, that didn’t do much for my worrying.

 

Look, all I really want to do is help. There wasn’t much I could directly do to find a cure, but if I could just get them coffee or do the taxes, at least I was doing something. I was helping.

 

And that put me one step closer to keeping Marco safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, Jean, baby :(
> 
> I hope you enjoyed that (despite all of the exposition). I look forward to releasing new chapters soon.  
> If anyone's interested, my tumblr is awkward-vegetable.tumblr.com :D  
> And (this is a bit of a stretch) but if there's anything you want me to see about the fic, I guess you could tag it "time is the fire in which we burn fic". A bit of a lengthy tag there, sorry.
> 
> Lots of love  
> -Kelsey


	3. Kindle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean takes a little field trip to the Garrison Foundation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for all of the support, you guys! If you have any friends you think would like this fic, please tell them. This'll probably sound selfish, but the more recognition, the better :)
> 
> This is sort of a shorter chapter, but I still think it's pretty good.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

I wake up with a throbbing pain in my lower back. Then I remember that I fell asleep on the couch last night. Oh, damn it all.

 

Alright, let me explain. When Marco first asked if I wanted to get an apartment together, I was overjoyed. It was like we could finally commit to something more than just each other. And I loved that. For about a minute and a half, I was in heaven—but then I realized something: he and I would have to furnish the apartment together. And more specifically, we would have to _buy furniture_ together.

 

Now, of course, I love him dearly and I always will, but when it came to stuff like furniture, we have completely different ideas on what was cool and what was not. And walking into a furniture store with him for the first time, I was practically sweating.

 

“Look at this one!” Marco had said, practically gasping as he ran to a couch only five feet from the front of the store. I looked down at the couch. It was a long, aqua green leather couch with curled features. The thing was obviously a vintage antique, and it was gorgeous too. And I felt like I was going to throw up all over it.

 

I’ve always hated things like that. My family had been pretty rich while I was growing up, so all we owned was vintage love seats and white china plates and bear fur carpets. As a kid, it didn’t take long for me to get sick of that lifestyle. When I went to a friend’s house, the first thing I would want to do was sit in an ugly La-Z-Boy recliner or eat off of a paper plate. Marco had _never_ known about this. I tried to keep it from him because (like it or not) he loves stuff like aqua leather couches. And I love him. So by default, I must love aqua leather couches.

 

Trying to seem casual about it, I told him, “C’mon, Marco, that thing’s probably pretty expensive.”

 

He immediately darted around the couch, searching it for a price tag. Marco found the little white paper attached, then read it. He looked like he was about to have a stroke. “It’s. On. _Sale_.”

 

 _Shit_.

 

With that as the only thought ringing in my mind, Marco had begun to jump up and down, nearly shouting, “It’s a sign! It’s meant to be!”

 

“Yeah…” I had muttered. _Dammit, Kirstein,_ my conscience reminded me. _Be a man. If your boyfriend loves it, you love it._ I nodded to myself, and then together, we bought that couch.

 

And look where we are now.

 

I sit up fully, clenching the small of my back. The fact that it was leather didn’t help either, nor the fact that I had no blanket because according to Marco, “A couch like that is too beautiful to be covered by any old blanket!”

 

I’m just about to declare it a bad day already, when I notice something on the coffee table. Well, I notice a few things. The first is a small plate of scrambled eggs, which are most likely cold. The second is a note. The third is a heart, about the size of my hand, created out of little pieces of eggshell.

 

I grin wildly. This wasn’t the first time he’d used eggshells to make a heart, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He’d used everything possible to create a heart—flower petals, kitchen utensils, crayons, rice, yarn—anything and everything. I was a little less creative; I usually just drew the hearts on pieces of paper.

 

I know, it’s a little weird, and pretty dorky. But we’ve been doing this heart thing for a while.

 

It started when we had just started dating in senior year. We were in the same calculus class, and he sat next to me. I remember it perfectly. We had a huge test that day, and I was scared as hell. I wasn’t sure I knew all of the material, even though I usually did well in that class. Right before the test was passed out, Marco had whispered to me, “Give me your hand.”

 

I raised my eyebrows at him. “Why?”

 

“Just do it.” Reluctantly, I gave him my hand, and he reached into his backpack to pull out a Sharpie. And right there, he flipped my hand over, and lightly drew a heart on my palm. “It’s for good luck,” he muttered, returning my hand.

 

It’s been a thing ever since.

 

Still smiling, I pick up the note. It’s in Marco’s handwriting (well, duh, who else would have written it?), and it says, “Jean—as you know, I have a meeting early this morning, so I’m at the high school. I made you eggs, but I don’t know if they’ll still be warm by the time you wake up. Don’t forget about going to the Garrison Foundation! And I was thinking, maybe you could take one of your friends; I’m sure they could use as much help as possible. Love you! Marco. Ps. Did you like the heart?”

 

“I loved it,” I can’t help but murmur aloud.

 

***

 

At 9:34, I manage to pull myself from the couch. At 9:35, I make myself breakfast (the eggs were terribly cold). At 9:52 I take a shower. At 10:24 I stop and remember what Marco had written in the note: _take one of your friends_.

 

I curse under my breath. Friends? I don’t have friends. Okay, yeah, maybe I have a friend or two. Or five. Or ten—but that doesn’t matter. Besides, just because I call them my friends, doesn’t mean they like me…or that I really like them all that much. Those people, the ones that Marco was talking about, those are just drinking buddies or guys from the theatre I help at sometimes. I don’t really have many close friends, and besides, everyone’s probably at work, anyways.

 

But then I remember someone, and I can’t help but smirk to myself. I’ll take Jaeger. It’s not that he’s a bad person, but he _hates_ voluntarily helping people.  Plus, he’s got a more flexible job like mine; he’s a self-employed architect.

 

I practically rush over to the phone. I put in his number (which I’ve memorized by now) and wait. He picks up almost immediately.

 

“Yello?” Eren’s voice is sharp and full of coffee. Excellent.

 

“Sup, Jaeger. What’s your schedule like today?”

 

“Empty. I haven’t had a client since Monday. I’ve been loving the free-time, but I’m starting to run low on money. Why? You have plans?”

 

“Yes, in fact, I do have plans. And you’re coming with me.”

 

“What? Where?”

 

“It’s a surprise.”

 

“You really expect me to just tag along to wherever you’re going to be for the rest of today? What is it, Kirstein? Picking up trash on the side of the highway? A gay bar?”

 

“Even better than a gay bar. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

 

He sighs. “Fine; I’ve got nothing better to do. Pick me up at 11.”

 

After the conversation is done, I move right to my closet and begin attempt to decide on what to wear. I only have a half hour before I have to get Eren, and I’m not even sure it’ll be enough time. Like, do I dress super gay because everyone will be gay or do I dress less gay because being too gay will over-gay it?

 

It weighs on me how much I just used the word ‘gay’ in my own mind.

 

At quarter to ten, I’m finally dressed in a maroon button-up shirt, blue jeans, and Chuck Taylor’s. I feel pretty cool, but it’s likely that I just look like a dickweed.

 

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing outside of Eren Jaeger’s apartment building, which is only a few blocks down from my own. He opens the door to me with a smug expression. “You’re late.”

 

“And you’re just lucky that you get to have me as company today.”

 

“Eat my shorts, Kirstein.”

 

By that point, we’re smiling as we start down the stairwell together. Sheena Street is only five minutes away by foot, and when we arrive at the red-painted front door of the Garrison Foundation, Eren is obviously confused.

 

Half nervous, half dubious, he asks, “Okay, you gonna tell me what this is yet?”

 

I sigh as I open the door and we make our way up to the third floor. “Remember last night when you told me to watch that news story on AIDS? And how the Garrison Foundation is working on curing it?”

 

He eyes me carefully. “…yes.”

 

“Well…this is it. This is the foundation. I’m going to work here.”

 

He practically groans. “Community service? You’ve got to be shitting me right now…”

 

“Play nice,” I hiss at him as I knock on the door of the only room on the third floor.

 

In almost no time, a short blonde guy with long hair and a bright smile opens the door. He gives me a strange and confused look at first, but then his eyes light up. “Jean?”

 

I instantly recognize his voice. “Armin?”

 

“Hi! Come in.” We slowly enter the room, which is huge, compared to my apartment. As soon as we’re inside, the stares of about fifteen guys fall upon Eren and I. Armin rushes up beside me and grabs my arm. “Guys, this is Jean! Jean, welcome to the Garrison Foundation!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the 80s slang? I try my best.
> 
> -Kelsey


	4. Sear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean makes a new friend, and Eren seems to be...up to something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this, I listened the Gorillaz album "Demon Days" and the Arcade Fire EP "Old Flame". Oh, and I listened to that song "Barbara Streisand" by Duck Sauce like actually 20 times.  
> I hope my music choices were not reflected onto this chapter XD
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

I feel my cheeks instantly turn red. Fuck. Everybody’s eyes are on me; not Eren, but me. Is there something on my face? Do they hate my hair cut? This is just like high school, like being picked to play dodge ball. Everyone staring me down, sizing me up, wondering whether to pick the gangly, possibly gay kid for their team. In high school, almost every time, I was picked last.

 

But not here.

 

After Armin introduces me, and after my face gets red, everyone begins to smile. They smile and laugh and say, “Hey, Jean, nice to meet you.”

 

And that’s the moment I realize this will be a home for me.

 

That bulky guy from TV, Reiner, emerges from the crowd of guys, giving me a smile. He claps one of his huge hands on my shoulder. “You’re one of the new recruits, I take it?”

 

“Yeah,” I stutter, a bit nervous because of the _gigantic_ hand weighing down on my arm. “I saw the news story about you guys, and my boyfriend and I wanted to help.”

 

“Oh, wow, that’s sick.” His eyes flick over to Eren. “Is this your boyfriend?”

 

I feel my blushing get worse, and wait for Eren to immediately deny the accusation. I look over at him questioningly when he doesn’t. He looks distracted for some reason; he’s sort of just staring out into the distance. Well, that’s what I thought he was doing. But then I follow his gaze, and see that it leads right to Armin. Huh.

 

But then remembering Reiner’s statement, I blurt out, “No, of course not! This is my friend, Eren Jaeger.”

 

“Hm,” Reiner says, reaching out to Eren to shake his hand. Jaeger takes a moment, but eventually shakes it. “Nice to meet you, Eren.”

 

“Yeah,” my friend says in return.

 

With nothing much more to discuss about that, an uncomfortable silence falls over us for nearly a minute. Finally, Armin decides to say, “There’s lots of stuff we could use help with, you guys!”

 

Eren and I both instantly jump in, replying with, “Oh, yeah. Totally. How can we help?” and things like that.

 

“Well…” he pauses. “Do you want to do something easy, or would you prefer to feel more helpful—”

 

“Easy!” Jaeger immediately spits out. He then awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I mean…if it’s easy then I’ll probably be able to do it, you know.” He chuckles.

 

Armin smiles. “The work here usually isn’t too hard. I’m sure you’ll be great at anything.”

 

“Well, probably not as great as you...”

 

 

Is Eren… _flirting_?

 

I try to push the thought aside as Armin replies to Eren, “Well, anyways, it’s about 11:30 right now, so we were thinking around 12, you could start getting people’s orders for what they want for lunch. There’s this café place that opened up really close to here a while ago, Au Bon Pain. Will that work for you?”

 

Eren grins, which, to be honest, is not something he does a lot. “Yes, totally! I’ll get right on it! Thanks, Armin.” Still smiling, he walks away.

 

Reiner snickers. “Man, what a flamer.”

 

I furrow my brow. “What?”

 

“That guy, Eren. How long has he been out of the closet?”

 

I’m not sure whether to laugh or get completely embarrassed for Eren. “Oh, he’s not gay.”

 

“ _Really_?” Armin asks.

 

I shrug, realizing that I’m not even 100% sure myself. But I still reply, “No, at least, as far as I know. In high school, he dated this girl, Mikasa—”

 

“High school was years, ago, dude,” Reiner says. “I’m just saying, he didn’t seem too straight to me…” On that note, he just turns and walks away, talking to some other guy.

 

All I can do now is look back to Armin. “So...what’s my job?”

 

He smirks. “Well, like I said, the jobs here are either easy or actually helpful. Since you’re pretty much the newest one here, you sort of have to start at the bottom of things. There’s a few options for that—you can answer the phone, you can help make signs about the cause, you can work on contacting some people about research, you could talk to Dr. Levi—”

 

“You guys know Dr. Levi? As in, Levi Ackerman?”

 

“Yeah! Reiner and Bertholdt met him when they were on the news story together. He’s the only doctor in Boston right now who really knows a lot about AIDS and is willing to give us the best care possible. We’re trying to set something up with him. He’ll tell some of his patients about us while we refer people that call us to him.”

 

“That’s a good plan. And I guess it’d be fun to meet him. He seems pretty…cool.”

 

Armin practically giggles. “Yeah, I guess.” He goes over to a desk and scribbles something down on a notepad. He rips off the piece of paper and hands it to me. “That’s his address.” He picks up another little piece of paper from the desk. It looks like a business card. “And give him this, so he can call us. Be back by 1:30. And don’t talk to strangers.” He smiles.

 

“Thanks,” I tell him, and then leave the room just as overwhelmed as when I came in.

 

***

 

One subway ride and a long walk later, I’m in a little waiting room in a building somewhere near Harvard. After only a five minute wait, a lady with messy brown hair and thin glasses walks out of a room and says, “Jean Kirstein?”

 

I jump up immediately. “Yeah?”

 

She grins at me. “Dr. Ackerman will see you now.”

 

I nod and walk over to the woman. As I enter the room, she says, “I’m Hanji Zoë, by the way. You can call me Hanji. Or Zoë. Or whatever you want. You know, you seem awful shy. It’s cute. You know I was wondering if maybe you’d like to—”

 

“Hanji,” a voice says from across the room. “He’s from the Garrison Foundation.”

 

“Ah. One of your gay ones, then. Well, can’t kill me for trying, right?”

 

“Yeah…” I look to the other side of the room, where a man sits behind a large desk. It’s Dr. Levi, of course, from the news. He just seems _a lot_ shorter than he did on TV. Like, laughably shorter. I try to ignore it, though it is difficult.

 

His eyes are squinted and dark as he looks me up and down. “Sit,” he says plainly.

 

I do, and I watch as Hanji takes a seat on the other side of the room, picking up a clipboard and setting it on her lap. When she notices my gaze on her, she laughs and says, “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m an intern!”

 

Nodding, I turn back to Levi. “How did you know I was from Garrison?”

 

Levi shrugs. “I knew they were sending someone along at some point. And you seemed to fit the…demographic.” Oh great, I do look extra gay today. “So what is it exactly you’d like to discuss?”

 

“Well, they said they’d like to work on connecting our two…businesses, per say. As in, you could tell your clients about Garrison, and we could send our clients to you.”

 

“Why would I do that?”

 

“To try to get the word out about AIDS and stuff.”

 

“Why would I do that?” he repeats. By now, I’m already frustrated with him.

 

“To help people. To keep more men from dying.”

 

“Why would _you_ do that?”

 

“Because I’m gay and I want to help people like me and keep them from getting sick.”

 

“Why should I care? _I’m_ not gay.”

 

I’m practically on the edge of my seat. My fists are clenching. “You should care because people are _dying!_ Empathy, that’s why you should care, asshole!”

 

His face doesn’t change, but something in his eyes does. Some sort of understanding. “I’ve upset you, haven’t I? That’s better. I can’t take anyone seriously if they don’t seem to be experiencing any kind of emotion.”

 

“Maybe you should try that yourself every once and awhile.”

 

Levi gives a short, hollow laugh. “Tell me about yourself, Jean.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Because I like you. I want to know more about you.”

 

“Umm, okay. I’m a playwright. I live here in Boston with my partner, Marco, who’s an English teacher. Umm, my favorite book is _Slaughter-House Five_. My favorite band is the Ramones. I like movies by Woody Allen and I _love_ Chinese food and when I was growing up I wanted to be an astronaut and get married to a woman and have ten kids.”

 

“I see that’s not exactly how it worked out.”

 

I can’t help but smile. “No. Not really. But I couldn’t be happier.”

 

“And this Marco, you love him?”

 

“Infinitely.”

 

“And you want to keep him safe?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He nods. “Alright. Well that’s why I’m going to work with the Garrison Foundation. I’m going to do anything I can to keep you and Marco safe, okay?”

 

A bit taken aback, I stutter, “You’re gonna do that for us?”

 

Levi rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so shocked. Just because I look like a gloomy-eyed, angry jackass, doesn’t mean I am one. And yes. It’s guys like you and Marco I want to protect. Like I said, I’m not gay. But I have this best friend, Erwin. He’s just about the most amazing guy I’ve ever met, and he’s got a boyfriend, Mike. But about a month ago, Erwin got AIDS.” He pauses, sighing a little. He bites his lip, then continues. “He’s dying right now. And I’ve got to save him. So yeah, I’ll help the Garrison Foundation.”

 

I smile at him. “That’s excellent.” I stand up and reach out to shake his hand. He declines the offer with a swish of his own hand. “Well, I’ve got to get back and tell them the news, but here’s our business card. Call us soon.” I set the card down on his desk, turn and walk away, but Levi stops me.

 

“Jean.” I turn back to him, eyebrows raised. “Be careful. The last thing I want is for you to get sick.”

 

I nod. “Definitely.” I begin to walk out again, and this time I get through the door. But then I stop, turn around, and walk back in. Levi’s looking out the window, but I say his name to get his attention. Then, softly, I tell him, “I hope Erwin gets better.”

 

He nods to me, and when I walk out of his office for good, all I can think about is Marco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys I actually researched Au Bon Pain for this chapter. They were created in Boston in 1979. I feel so accomplished. 
> 
> Anyways, again, my tumblr is awkward-vegetable.tumblr.com
> 
> Have a nice day ^_^  
> -Kelsey


	5. Torch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren has feelings, a new friend shows up, and Jean and Marco get a little intimate *wink wink*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for all of the positive feedback I've been getting on this fic. And feel free to comment or leave kudos, and share this with your jeanmarco-loving friends.
> 
> Oh, and this is the longest chapter, in case you were interested.
> 
> And sorry it took a little longer to publish this one. I've been hella busy :(
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

When I get back to Garrison, the place is full of laughter, and everything smells like bread.

 

 _Eren_.

 

I’ll admit, he’s really a pretty charismatic guy if you can get him to open up. He’s smart, funny, charming, attractive, and insanely courageous. Hell, he’s everything I wish I could  be more of. Eren hadn’t had that many friends in high school because he was loyal, and he stuck with Mikasa and I since we weren’t popular. If he wanted, he could have been the ultra-jock, football captain, prom king, school ruler. But he stuck with us.

 

I may hate him sometimes, but I can’t ever deny what a good guy he is.

 

I look around the room to see Eren sitting tall on one of the desks, with his arm draped around casually around Armin’s shoulder. All the other guys stand around them, eating baked goods and chuckling.

 

“JEAN!” Eren shouts gleefully as soon as I walk in. “You’re home!”

 

“Home? Eren, are you wasted right now?”

 

“Of course not!” he replies. I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the fact that, yes, somehow Eren probably managed to get wasted in the past hour.

 

Instead, I just laugh it off, saying, “Hey, Jaeger, you save me a croissant?”

 

He picks a paper bag up off the desk and tosses it at me. “Anything for you, buddy.”

 

I take out the pastry and start to eat it while Eren begins to tell another joke. I’m in the middle of eating it when two people approach me. One of them I recognize—it’s Reiner’s boyfriend, Bertholdt. The other I don’t recognize; he’s short and olive-skinned with a shaved head.

 

Before I can even get a better look at the guy, Bertholdt says to me in a friendly tone, “Hello, Jean. Reiner told me about you, and how you and your partner were inspired by our story. You probably saw on the news, but my name’s Bertholdt. You can just call me Bert if you want.” He gestures to the guy next to him. “And this is Connie Springer.” I shake hands with him and introduce myself.

 

In return, he says to me with an accent that is obviously of New York. “Nice to meet you. So, uh, Bert said that you brought your partner, Marco. My partner came too.” He turns and waves to someone, yelling, “Hey, come here! I want you to meet someone!”

 

At this point, I’m kinda interested to see what this guy’s boyfriend looks like, but then, the completely unexpected happens. From the sea of huge, laughing men emerges a woman. A real, actual woman. She saunters up to Connie and puts her arm around his waist. Popping a bubble with her gum, the woman says to me, “Hey. I’m Sasha.”

 

“Jean,” I reply, still a little disoriented. Not only was I stunned that she’s a woman, but she also happens to be extremely beautiful. She’s tall and slender, and has long, dark brown hair and big, permanently-questioning eyes. Trying to turn my attention away from Sasha, I look at Connie. “So… you’re straight?”

 

He laughs. “Yeah, kinda shocking, right? Like you guys, we watched their story on the news and it sounded like a really great cause. And Sasha’s all about volunteering.”

 

“I just got back from a 2-month trip in Bangladesh nursing sick camels,” she adds matter-of-factly. “And everyone here seems really cool, no matter what sexuality they are.  It’ll be a pleasure working here.”

 

I smile at Sasha, until she randomly blurts out, “Conniiiiieeeeeee, where’s the food?”

 

Bertholdt comes over next to them, and says courteously, “Refreshments are over there, Sasha.”

 

“Yes! Let’s eat!” She grabs Connie’s hand and leads him to where Bert was gesturing.

 

Realizing that I’m actually starving, I’m about to go for the food myself, when someone rushes up next to me. I turn to see a wide-eyed, urgent Eren.

 

“Jean!” he says, then pulls me by my arm to one of the more secluded areas of the office. He turns back to me. “I’ve got a problem.”

 

I expect him to say more, but when he remains quiet, I urge, “Go on.”

 

His face flushes. “It’s just… I want to ask out Armin.”

 

If I had water in my mouth, I would have done a spit take all over him.

 

“You what?”

 

If it’s even possible, Eren blushes a little more. “I do! I really want to ask him out! He’s really cute and funny and caring—”

 

I grab him by both shoulders. “Eren. You’re straight.”

 

The tension in his shoulders falls out, and he sighs. “I know.” His voice almost cracks. “I just… I _really_ like him.”

 

I sigh too. Where the hell did this even come from? Everything seemed normal… well, apart from Eren staring at Armin… and following him around… and throwing his arm around his shoulder like that. Wow, so maybe I am clueless.

 

“Look, Eren, I know it sucks, but you just have to wait. I’m even not 100% sure you're sober right now, so you might completely regret this tomorrow. And if you are sober, you might still regret it because you don’t really understand what it’s like to date another guy. Just give it another day. Sleep on it.”

 

Eren just stares at me at first, but then slowly begins to nod. “Okay. I won’t do it. Not yet.”

 

I pat him on the shoulder. “Good boy. Now go play with your friends.”

 

He walks away, and all I can do is hope that he follows my advice. Damn it, they grow up so fast.

 

 

***

 

 

I spend the rest of the day there (at least, until 8 o’clock), doing assorted chores by the command of Reiner and Armin. By the time I drop off Eren and get to my apartment, I’m practically exhausted. But before going up the steps of our building, I notice Marco’s car parked out front. It takes some deciding, but eventually, I end up creating a heart out of leaves on the hood. Yeah, they’ll probably blow away. But right now, I feel too good to even give a shit.

 

Still tired, but in a pleasant mood, I decide to sprint up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. I’ve eaten too many croissants today do otherwise.

 

When I go through the door of my apartment, I over-joyously shout, “Honey, I’m home!”

 

Marco, who’s sitting on the couch with a book, turns and looks at me. When he sees who it is, he begins to laugh, and sets the novel on a table. He’s got his reading glasses on. So cute. “I’ve been expecting you,” he says.

 

I saunter over to him. “Oh really?”

 

He stands up, one eyebrow cocked. “Are you panting?”

 

I immediately try to stop. “Nooooo.”

 

While taking my hands, Marco gives me a sassy grin. “You weren’t fucking another guy before you came here, were you?”

 

Smiling myself now, I shrug. “I hate to disappoint you, but it was actually a woman.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “You damn straight boys, always getting into trouble.”

 

By now, Marco’s just an inch away from my lips, so I lean in and kiss him playfully. He expected it to be a long kiss, so I intentionally fail him when I pull away. He chases my lips when I do.

 

“What are you doing?” he asks, his eyes flickering open, trying to hide his goofy smile.

 

“Trying to get you into bed.”

 

“There’s a couch over there.”

 

“Close enough.”

 

Marco pulls me by both of my hands towards the aqua vintage monstrosity (which we have banged on before, and it’s usually easier the second or third time around). And now he’s on top of me. And now I feel like I can finally breathe again.

 

He’s pinned my arms down, so I teasingly try to jump up and kiss him. I miss his lips and catch his chin, only causing him to laugh. Marco kisses me instead, pressing me further back against the couch. In almost no time, he’s pulled my shirt over my head, and has taken off his own.

 

He kisses my neck while I press my face into his hair. Oh, it smells _so_ good. Like apples and ginger and mint. He still uses the same shampoo that he used when we started college. I tried using it myself once, but it wasn’t the same. It’s not as beautiful if it’s not on Marco.

 

My hair-related thoughts are interrupted when he gently nips at my ear. A tiny, surprised gasp catches in my throat. 14 years and he still takes my breath away. Damn you, Marco Bodt.

 

I rub his scalp in little, circular patterns, signifying that yes, I am still alive, and yes, I want to make it as good as him as it is for me. In response, he kisses me harder, moving his lips up and down my neck and jawline, then down to my chest. With my face less pressed against his hair, I whisper, “I missed you today.”

 

Marco takes just a split second to look up at me and reply, “Same here.” He quickly returns his attention back down to my chest, leading a trail of kisses to one of my nipples. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep in a moan as he sucks the skin around it.

 

Trying to keep the mood light, I say, “You’re still wearing your reading glasses.”

 

It takes him a moment, but he eventually replies, “And you’re still wearing the majority of your clothes.”

 

“Well so are you.”

 

“You talk _way_ too much.”

 

I smirk. “Then make me stop.”

 

“God, you’re an idiot.” He laughs and presses a firm, open-mouthed kiss to my lips. My heart quickens when he slips his tongue into my mouth, but I only return the favor with my own tongue. Tongue is such a weird word, isn’t it? If you say it a lot, it doesn’t sound like a word at all. Tongue, tongue, tongue, tongue…

 

Damn it, Jean.

 

I have this problem where I always get _so_ distracted during sex. A friend of mine (who happens to be a psychologist) told me it’s a coping mechanism for fear of intimacy. I laughed in her face. Jean Kirstein isn’t afraid of anything. I mean, me? Afraid of being intimate? Well… maybe… sometimes… but not always. And besides, I’ve been intimate with Marco for 14 years. But every single time, he makes he feel like the same clueless virgin I was freshman year of college.

 

Oh, there I go again. Distractions.

 

 _But this time I won’t be distracted_ , I promise myself, returning my attention to my boyfriend. My partner. My life. Marco. Yes, that’s what I need to focus on. Marco.

 

I pull him closer and run a hand down his back, then move it back up on the side of his ribs. His face is pressed against my shoulder again, leaving my chin to rest against his back.

 

My eyelids are fluttering. Open and closed. Open and closed. I try to close my eyes completely, but sometimes when I do, I feel like everything will be gone. Like this won’t even be real, because I’ll open my eyes and Marco will be gone. He will have never existed. I will have made him up in my imagination. Sometimes he feels too good to be true.

 

There goes the fear of intimacy thing again.

 

And with that now on the mind, I have my eyes open all the way. I do my best to ignore the fact that I’m too scared of myself to even close my eyes. So I stare down his back, towards the top of his jeans.

 

I smile when I notice his freckles. I’ve seen all of them before, and I know where the big patches of them are. I’ve kissed a lot of those freckles, licked them and bit them and sucked on them and done everything else you could ever imagine.

 

I’m starting to feel good about myself again, being calmed by the vast constellation of freckles that is Marco’s back. I can breathe. The fear’s leaving me. My eyes can close now.

 

My eyelids begin to flicker shut, but then they stop, and shoot wide open again. It’s because I see something. Something I’m not sure about. Something that doesn’t look like it’s always been there.

 

“Stop,” I say to Marco, my voice firm.  


He chuckles a little. “I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Marco, please. Stop.”

 

I can tell he’s confused, but he does as I say, and stops kissing my neck. Questioningly, he climbs off of me, then kneels on the floor. Marco looks at me, his eyes huge. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

 

“No, of course not.” I sit up a little. “You were great. It’s just… could you turn around?”

 

His eyebrows furrow. “Turn around?”

 

“Just…please,” I say, adding no further explanation.

 

Still confused, he twists around, so that his back faces me.

 

I lean in to examine it, but it only takes me a split second. There it is. Right there.

 

I remember Levi’s words exactly. _These marks will begin to appear on the skin, no more than the size of a quarter. They’re usually brown or red. If you’re not careful, one could be mistaken for a larger freckle._

 

At first, I did mistake it for a freckle. But it’s not. Mixed in with a blotch of his freckles is a brownish red spot.

 

No bigger than the size of a quarter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn't see that one coming *sarcasm*
> 
> -Kelsey  
> awkward-vegetable.tumblr.com


	6. Inflame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, friends.
> 
> I just got back from camping all weekend, and I just sat down and whipped up that chapter for you guys! Hope you like it (I actually sort of enjoy the writing in this chapter).
> 
> Enjoy...

Do you ever get that feeling? The one where you’re licking on ice cream, but then you bite down, and your teeth feel so cold that they’re about to fall out. But then, they feel like nothing.

 

Do you get that feeling in the shower, when everything hurts so bad and you feel so tired, that you no longer care? And you turn the water as hot as it can ever possibly go. And it burns. So badly. But then it gets so hot that it feels cold. And then it feels like nothing.

 

When you were a kid, did you ever go sledding in the dead of winter? When it was just you, out in the blizzard-like snow, speeding down a hill so fast you felt like your skin was going to peel off. But then the sled slows down. And you lay there, by yourself, with nothing but the sound of the snow. And there isn’t anything but nothing.

 

When Marco turns around, looking me in the eyes, it is all of this at once. And then it is nothing.

 

But then, it just fucking _hurts_.

 

He doesn’t say anything, but he won’t stop looking at me. That just makes it worse.

 

I take a deep breath, and then I say to him, “Marco.” I have to take a pause because my voice feels too shaky. I continue. “On your back. There’s a—”

 

“I know.”

 

At first I don’t understand. “You…know?”

 

What hurts the most right now is that he’s hardly reacting. His face is completely straight and his eyes are the most serious I’ve seen them in a while. He’s not confused. He’s not upset. He just knows.

 

Marco sighs. “Yes. Remember last night when you asked me to check for spots? I did. And then I saw the reflection of my back in the mirror. And I almost threw up. Jean, I’m scared, and I’m not going to try to pretend that I’m not. So this morning, I skipped the meeting and went to see a doctor—”

 

“Oh great, so you trust a doctor, more than you trust me?” I spit at him, my voice unraveling as I do.

 

“Jean, it’s not like that, and you know it’s not. I was hoping it’d go away before I had to tell you. And then we started making out and I just forgot everything because the only thing I was thinking about was you. Look, I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

 

“So you were just going to avoid telling me until you died? Was that your plan, Marco?”

 

“I didn’t tell you yet because I knew that this would happen! I wanted to wait!”

 

“Well didn’t waiting just do a hell of a good job, huh?”

 

He stands up and looks down at me. “You know what? While you were at the Garrison Foundation today, saving lives and having sex or whatever you do there, I was here. Alone. Sobbing and pacing around, worrying about what you would say when I finally had to tell you that _I might die_. But then I thought to myself: ‘he’s the love of my life. Of course he’ll be supportive’.” In the half-lighting I can see his eyes start to get teary. “But I guess it didn’t work out like that. Have fun sleeping on the couch again, Jean.”

 

Marco takes a deep breath and then walks into the bedroom. When he slams the door shut, I fall backwards onto the couch.

 

I want to cry, but I don’t. I close my eyes.

 

For many, many years, I haven’t prayed. Technically, I’m a Christian. I celebrate Christmas (and Hanukkah because Marco’s Jewish) and Easter, but I haven’t been to church since I was five. I have a weird relationship with God. I mean, I know He’s there; we just don’t talk a lot. Sort of like me and father.

 

So for the first time in many, many years, I decide to pray.

 

“Hey, God,” I say in a voice that is just barely audible. My eyes are still closed. “I know you’re probably busy. And this’ll be quick. I just need to ask you for a favor. Please, _please_ let Marco live.” The tears start to fill up behind my eyelids and I blink quickly to get them out. My voice cracks when I continue, “I don’t know how he got it or why he got it, but he doesn’t deserve it, okay? He’s the best person I’ve ever met. And I love him. _So_ much. And I need you to help me.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Alright, that should be good. Just help Marco. That’s it. Thanks. I mean, amen. And stuff.”

 

“Nice prayer.”

 

Marco’s voice makes me sit up and look to where he spoke from. He’s leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, wearing pajamas. His face is red and his eyes are puffy. He’s never been more beautiful.

 

“I was coming out to get some food, but I stopped when I heard you,” Marco says. “Thanks for praying for me, I guess.” Hesitantly, he comes over and sits on the couch near my feet.

 

We sit in silence for a minute. Finally, I bring myself to croak out, “What did the doctor say?”

 

He shrugs. “Not much. She told me that I’m one of the first cases she’s seen, so I should go see a more informed doctor. But for right now, she said to take it easy and not do too much physical activity. And do you remember when I had the flu a few weeks ago?”

 

“The really bad flu?”

 

“Yeah. That was one of the symptoms of the virus that causes AIDS. And I’ve been getting a lot of headaches too. There’s another symptom.”

 

I sit up, and when I see his face and how broken it is, the tears start flowing again. I manage to tell him, “It’ll be okay.”

 

He gives me a half-smile. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

 

I sniff. “I can take you to see this guy I know, Dr. Ackerman. He was on TV during the news story on AIDS. He works with the Garrison Foundation and I met him today. He’s _fantastic_.”

 

Marco nods. “We can go on Saturday. I’ll just get through tomorrow, and then I’ll decide what I want to do about my job. But right now, the kids at school need me.”

 

I nod. Then, with nothing else to say, I lean over and kiss him. Gently. More gentle than I have in a while.

 

He pulls away for a second and whispers onto my lips, “Just because I’m sick, doesn’t mean I’m fragile.”

 

“I think because you’re sick, _I’m_ the most fragile that I’ve ever been.”

 

He puts his hand on the back of my neck, and when we kiss again, there are tears everywhere. “I’m sorry,” I say in between kisses. “I’m sorry and we’ll get through this together.”

 

“Okay,” he replies, then pulls away for a few extra moments. “How about we just pick up where we left off?”

 

For the first time tonight, I manage a real smile. “Hey, my shirt’s already off.”

 

And then we’re pulling each other to the bedroom. And then I’m in his arms again.

 

And then there is nothing.

 

***

 

“Levi.”

 

On Saturday morning, at 9 o’clock sharp (the only time I could get an appointment), I am in Dr. Levi Ackerman’s office. He’s sitting behind his huge desk, just like last time, and he’s staring at me. Then he stares at Marco, who’s right next to me.

 

“You’re back?” Levi says, his voice a bored, smooth drawl.

 

Hanji, who stands next to the desk, scoffs. “Sir, yesterday I told you that Mr. Kirstein would be returning this morning.” She rolls her eyes. “Honestly, why am I even here?”

 

“That’ll be enough for now, Ms. Hanji. Why don’t you go wait with the accountant?”

 

She shrugs, and says while she’s walking out, “Your loss.”

 

Levi looks back at Marco and I. “Sit.”

 

We do, and it takes me a moment or two for me to work up the courage to begin to speak. “Well, first of all, thanks for making an appointment with us.”

 

“It’s no problem,” he replies while examining his nails.

 

“And anyways, I came here to introduce you to my boyfriend, Marco. Marco, this is Levi Ackerman.”

 

“Hi,” Marco says brightly, obviously trying to make a good impression. “Jean told me that you’re a really good doctor.”

 

Levi doesn’t look up. “Nice to meet you. And yes, I am a really good doctor.”

 

After another moment or two, I continue, “Well, I guess it’s good that you two know each other now. Because I have news, Levi.”

 

“Mm hmm?”

 

“I think Marco’s got AIDS.”

 

Levi’s eyes shoot up immediately, and (to my surprise) land first on Marco, but then jump to me. He lowers the hand he had been examining the nails on.

 

“Are you absolutely sure?” he asks. “How did you know?”

 

“Well,” Marco responds for me. “A few weeks ago I had the flu, but really, really badly. And I keep getting these really bad headaches and my body just feels so weak all of the time. And I have this.” He stands up, then takes off his jacket and pulls his shirt over his head. Marco turns his back towards Levi.

 

In full view and better lighting, the spot is much more visible. The sight of it almost makes me sick.

 

Levi stands up to get a better look at his back. Now that he’s standing, Levi is definitely much shorter than I thought. In fact, he’s a little bit less than a head shorter than Marco is.

 

The tiny spot is located close to the center of Marco’s back, and Levi leans in towards it a little, then says, “This formed quite recently. “Fortunately, you’ve only just begun the progression into AIDS. This is the stage in which the HTLV virus is turning your cells into its own. That’s why your immune system is down and you’ve been feeling so weak. As for healing—”

 

“Am I going to die?” Marco suddenly interrupts.

 

I close my eyes for a second, trying to pretend like he didn’t say that. Of course he didn’t just say that. He wouldn’t have said that. He’s not going to be die. He’ll be fine. He’s not going to die. He’ll be fine. He’s not going to—

 

“You might,” Levi replies curtly. My eyes open and I shoot him a look that is both frightened and angered. “I’m sorry, but I have to be honest with him. With no treatment, he’ll live for 3 years, max. But there’s definitely hope.”

 

“Hope?” I chuckle, almost speechless at his use of the word. “You want to talk to me about hope? So yeah, maybe with years upon years of chemo, he might live until 35. So what?”

 

“Jean,” Marco says, giving me a serious glare. “It’s okay.”

 

“No, Marco, it’s really _fucking_ not. I’m being told that if I’m lucky, if I have a little hope, I might get to be with you for 5 more years. I might get to still love you for 5 more years. I have to put you through 5 painful years, just to keep you with me.” My eyes are watering up but I don’t even feel sad. I’m angry. I reach up and shove the hair away from my eyes. “It’s just not fair.”

 

“It never is, Jean,” Levi says. “But right now, I can’t promise a cure.”

 

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? I’m supposed to wait and _hope_? Hope that maybe, just maybe, if you and your doctor buddies could get off your washed up asses for two minutes, then maybe you could get some work done and cure the hundreds of men who are dying. You can cure my boyfriend, who—did I mention—IS DYING!”

 

“Jean!” Marco shouts at me. “Enough.”

 

I look at him, at his beautiful eyes and his beautiful mouth and beautiful freckles. But even though that’s what I’m looking at, all I can see is the spot. All I can see is the AIDS.

 

I turn around and walk right out of the office, tears streaming down my face as I do.

 

It’s just not fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a good time for Jean :/
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed that chapter. Yes, it was a little sad, a little angsty, but I thought I did a fairly good writing job.
> 
> Once again, my tumblr is awkward-vegetable.tumblr.com, if anyone's interested in following me. Come and share the tumblr love. Lol I just post a lot of stuff about Wes Anderson and AOT and Arcade Fire and Sherlock. But follow me anyways!
> 
> Love you guys so much uwu  
> -Kelsey


	7. Glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of dialogue between Jean and Armin*
> 
>  
> 
> *shout out to all the Jean/Armin shippers out there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Sorry it's been a while. I just got done volunteering at a summer camp for a week, and then I was just busy for the next days. I was going to do the writing a couple of nights ago, but I had just heard about Robin Williams and I was a little upset that night. So I procrastinated. I'm a horrible author. I'm so sorry, my darlings.
> 
> I listened to Sufjan Stevens and Twenty-One Pilots while writing this chapter, in case you were interested. Do any of you like either of them?
> 
> Once again, thank you to every one who is reading this fic. I love your support so much!
> 
> Enjoy :)

When I walk out of the front door of Levi’s building, the sun is practically blinding. I shield my eyes in attempt to block out the light, simultaneously trying to wipe the tears away. Neither tasks are accomplished.

I’m not even five feet out the door, when suddenly, I bump into someone. No, let me rephrase that. I full-on, cartoon-style crash into someone.

My body slips past the other person, and with no ready hands to shield me from the ground, I hit it face first. Luckily, because my hands were already in front of my eyes, my nose didn’t get hit too bad. But it does still bleed. 

With one hand I try to wipe away stray tears, and with the other, I try to keep my nose blood from running too much. I shakily try to stand up, noticing that there are papers everywhere on the ground. My voice is still a little wobbly and unsure, but I manage to stutter out, “Shit, I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, it’s— Jean?”

The voice is instantly recognizable, but also painfully hard to place. When I stand up fully and see that it’s Armin who stands before me, I’m somehow not surprised.

He’s scooping up papers hurriedly, but is also looking up at me in confusion. When he sees my bleeding nose, he curses under his breath, and then stands up too. “Oh my gosh, did I do that?” He pulls a tissue from the inside of his jacket pocket and hands it to me. 

I gingerly take it and press it to my face, then say, “It’s not your fault, Armin.”

He chuckles a little. “Yeah, it kinda was. But I guess it’s better than…wait…Jean, are you crying?”

I immediately look down at him with an annoyed glare. “Umm, no.”

“But you’re all red and puffy—”

“Fuck. I mean, yeah, I technically was crying but it was for a good reason.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Are you going to tell me why—”

“Not right now, Armin,” I spit at him. Seeing the disappointed look on his face, I try to compensate by continuing, “I mean, maybe sometime soon, but just not right now.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s okay.” He gives another pause before saying, “Can we talk for a minute?”

I’m a little surprised by his request, seeing as were not exactly friends, but I agree, and we go to sit down on a little bench just a few feet away.

Armin begins the conversation by (shockingly enough) pulling out a package of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and asking me, “Do you mind?”

“Er, no, not really,” I reply, trying not to seem too stunned. He sticks one of them in his mouth and lights it. As he’s breathing out the smoke, I say, “I’m kind of surprised that you smoke.”

He rolls his eyes. “Damn it, if I had a dime for every time someone has said that to me, I’d have enough money for a million packs of cigarettes.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just that, well, you don’t really seem like someone who would. You’re just so…cute and innocent, you know?”

Armin smiles a little. “Yeah, I get that a lot too. It’s just how I was born and I can’t really change it. I mean, I could dye my hair black, get some tattoos, and change my name to Spike, but it’s not going to change who I really am: cute and innocent. Besides, I don’t even like smoking that much anymore. It reminds me of my ex-boyfriend, Thomas. I got him addicted too. I’d feel bad about that, except for the fact that I caught him with another man and then he kicked me out of our apartment. But that’s okay. Can I ask you about something, Jean?”

I’m almost a little overwhelmed by everything he just told me, but I try to get over myself. “Um, yeah, I guess.”

He blows a puff of smoke, then bites his lip slightly. “So, Eren asked me out this morning.”

“That fucking bastard.”

“What?”

“Er, I mean, wow! That’s great!”

He blushes and scratches the back of his neck a little. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, what did you say?”

Shrugging, he puts the cigarette back in his mouth. After taking it out and blowing smoke away, he replies, “I said yes.” He laughs a little, looking down at his knees. “I said I’d have dinner with him tonight.”

“Wow. Okay. Do you like him?”

“To be honest?” Armin looks over at me, then blushes again and looks away. “I like him a lot. I think he’s really funny and really nice and, well, he’s pretty hot.”

I nearly gag. “Yeah, I suppose.”

He continues, “But I’ll admit, I was a little confused when he asked me out. When we were talking to Reiner, you said he was straight.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.”

Armin shrugs again. “Who knows. Maybe he’s bisexual. I guess I’m just glad that he asked me out. I’m not sure where he’s taking me tonight but I hope that—”

“Armin, can I tell you why I was crying?”

His smile fades and he furrows his brow. “Yeah, of course.”

I can already feel my eyes getting watery. “Well, it’s the reason why I’m here. It’s because Marco’s got AIDS.”

He collapses back onto the bench. “Holy shit. Jean, I’m so, so sorry. Tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Well, there isn’t much you can do to help.”

“I can be your friend.”

I look over at him. He’s smiling. Even though I’m starting to cry again, I smile back.

And then the moment is over as I stand up, saying, “I really need to get back to Marco. I left him all alone with Levi.”

Armin stands up, snuffing out the remains of the cigarette with his shoe. “I need to go see Levi too. He’s the real reason I’m here in the first place.” He holds up the folder full of slightly crumpled papers. “Got some paperwork I need him to sign.”

I nod, and without any more words, we walk in together.

Hanji nods to me silently as I walk past her desk, and I give her a little wave. She replies by saying, “He’s still waiting for you.”

“Who is?”

“Both of them.” She snickers, not looking up from her work. “Good luck apologizing for that one, Little Miss Storm-Out.”

I arrive at the door, and both Levi and Marco turn to look at me. Then at Armin. Then back to me. They’re now in another part of the room, where Marco sits on an examining table, still without a shirt on. Levi stands next to him, holding a clipboard. “Welcome back,” he says coldly.

Trying to pull the attention away from me, I point to Armin. “Look who I found.”

Levi sets the clipboard down. “Nice to see you again, Armin.”

“And you, doctor.”

Returning the subject of Marco, Levi says to me, “I’ve given him a full examination this time. Yes, as we speak, AIDS is developing inside of him very slowly.”

Marco adds, “We might start chemotherapy soon, and I would have mentioned that sooner, but I was afraid that you might scream and then run out again.”

I roll my eyes. “Look, I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”

“Jean, it’s fine. I just got a little pissed off, but I know how mad you can get, so I thought you needed some time to cool down.”

“Mad? I don’t get mad.”

“Baby, this is the fourth time you’ve stormed out on me in the past week alone. You get mad.”

I try to ignore what he said by instead talking to Levi. “Hey, Armin’s got some papers for you to sign.”

Armin holds up the folder. “Indeed I do.” He goes over to Levi and begins a conversation with him.

Slowly, trying not to do anything wrong, I walk to Marco. “So,” I say gingerly. “You still don’t have a shirt on.”

“Levi had to examine me.”

“Well, it’s a good thing he did. Because you’re pretty hot all bare-chested like that.”

He smiles, which practically makes my heart melt. “Stop flirting, you’re making me sick.”

I lean in a little, making our faces just a couple of inches away. “I can’t, you’re just too irresistible.”

“I said no flirting, Kirstein. Now knock it off.”

“No,” I murmur, right before meeting his lips with mine. I expected it to just be a quick peck, but once I’m kissing him, I just can’t stop. He’s still sitting on the examination table, so I have to stand up my toes to wrap my arms around his neck. Before I know it, we’re in the middle of a full-fledged make-out, we could’ve probably kept going too, if it weren’t for Levi saying, “Excuse me, Jean.”

It takes me a second, but I pull my face away from Marco’s and look at him. “Hmm?”

Levi sighs. “Look, I know this will sound pretty terrible, but for right now, you two definitely need to keep the physical contact on a low level. Kissing, different kinds of touching—”

“Does that mean we can’t have sex?” I shout suddenly, completely serious.

Levi chuckles, shaking his head. “I, Dr. Levi Ackerman, officially ban you two from having sex. At least, for right now.”

“Fuuuuccckkkkkk,” I whine, looking at Marco.

Chuckling, he rolls his eyes at me, then looks at Levi. “I’ll try my best to keep him away.”

I want to laugh too. I want to be as okay with this as Marco is. I want to be able to make friendly conversation and pretend like I’m okay with not kissing him. I want to seem normal and calm and brave and happy. But I can’t do any of those things. Because I’d just be pretending. I’d just be acting. 

And I’ve never been a good actor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, wasn't a fantastic chapter, but I'm a little tired. Sorry.
> 
> Again, please leave comments or kudos if you liked the story! I LOVE to hear feed back from you guys.
> 
> Thanks for reading  
> -Kelsey ^_^


End file.
